Listen sweetheart, I like you; I can see you've got a good heart. You're a beautiful woman who one day is going to make some lucky young buck the happiest hog on market day, as my mama used to say.

But you and me can never be. It just ain't written in the winds of fate, sister. The old guy in the sky gone and done kicked me in the nuts again. I only wish that you could be the one that finally tames this old stallion, the gas stop that can at last provide respite from the road for this old rusty bike.

But you should have always known that this battered old bike can never stop revving its engine, that there ain't no room on this dusty leather seat for more than just one lone wolf.

Even the concept of two lone wolves is an oxymoron, so that should have alerted you to a problem. But anyway, what I'm trying to say is - I ride alone. Wherever I lay my hat, that's my home. I live by my own set of rules, and I'm still always breaking them. That's how much of a rebel I am.

One night I could be swigging sambuca with some native Americans, the next I'm breaking up a fight between two estranged brothers with some roundhouse kicks and fists to the face, helping them both realise that violence don't solve anything.

I work for no one. My bosses don't like my methods, but they sure as hell respect my results. I cut corners to make ends meet. I make sure I make the ends justify the means. I'm a loose cannon, a maverick, a free spirit, a quiet hero.

I laugh at hell because I've already been there - booked a return ticket to earth as I didn't like the room they gave me. Heaven begged me to join their little club, but I turned them down as I don't like the way they cook their steaks. That's just how I roll.

I'll die young and live forever, an engine full of gas and a pocket full of hope. I'm everywhere like the wind, and nowhere like Luton. This wolf shuns the pack and runs alone - don't try to hold him down or you'll feel the claws.

See you on the other side, sister. If you get there first, save me a seat.